


The 12 Days of Christmas

by tridecaphilia



Category: The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Christmas, Established Relationship, Fluff, Kink Negotiation, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2016-01-07
Packaged: 2018-05-09 08:21:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 7,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5532386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tridecaphilia/pseuds/tridecaphilia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Christmas always has huge meaning for Newt. This year, it's the start of something a little different. A little/Caregiver Minewt fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A partridge in a pear tree

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas! Have a new fic!
> 
> This is going to post every day from now until January 6, AKA Epiphany, AKA the last of the twelve days of Christmas.
> 
> Also, take a good long look at that rating. The kink this fic is exploring and negotiating is not one that has to do with sex. Okay? Okay.

Newt's family had had a tradition. Every year, his mum had gathered little gifts. Ornaments for their tree, earrings for Sonya, watches for Newt, picture frames, that kind of thing. She'd given each child a gift every day of December. But through events he'd never fully shared with Minho, Newt had fallen out with his family. For the last three years, he'd only gotten presents on Christmas.

And this year had been hard for him. He hadn't made a sale since August. He was missing Stanford and all the promise he'd had back then. More than once Minho had woken up to the sound of him crying for the life he could have had. Minho wasn't sentimental, but he also wasn't going to let his boyfriend spend Christmas in tears.

Which all added up to him stopping at the dollar store on his way home from work. There, he figured he could get enough presents for the month of December while still keeping enough in reserve to spoil Newt thoroughly on Christmas proper.

The first thing he saw, and got, was a Santa hat. Newt had a different Christmas shirt and ugly Christmas sweater for every day of the month, but somehow he didn't have the hat to go with it. That would have to change.

After that, well. It turned out to be surprisingly difficult to find things for a boyfriend in the dollar store. He found a couple generic ornaments, which would work, but then he more or less ran out.

He stopped, looking at a display. Maybe. Just a few. As jokes. It would fill the days from now to Christmas, anyway.

~

Newt picked at his dinner that night, until Minho had to fight the urge to feed him himself. Newt had a habit of not eating when he was stressed out, and Minho knew better than anyone when to push and when not to. Tonight was a night when he shouldn’t touch it with a ten-foot pole.

“Got you something,” he said when Newt pushed his plate away.

Newt glanced up, a half-light entering his eyes. “You did?”

“Yeah,” Minho said, pushing his chair back. “Wait here.”

He got up and went to the bedroom, fishing the gift bag off the top shelf of the closet. He brought it back and handed it to Newt. “Happy December first,” he said with a crooked grin.

Newt, looking like he was trying to swallow back hope, dug through the tissue paper until he found the Santa hat. Instantly his eyes lit up. “I love it,” he said, pulling it onto his head. “Thank you, so much.”

“Anytime,” Minho said.

~

The next day was what he called ‘testing the waters.’ He needed to know if this was an acceptable thing, a joke gift that Newt would appreciate, or if he needed to go to a real store and dig up better gifts.

Newt, when he opened the coloring book, didn’t laugh, but neither did he look upset. Instead an odd look came over his face, like he’d just discovered a huge secret. “Thank you,” he said sincerely.

Well. Apparently Minho could get more of those.

~

Dollar store ornaments were pretty few and far between, so there weren’t many of those over the next few weeks. But there were plenty of kiddie crafts. A paint-your-own birdhouse, a watch with a blank wristband for Newt to paint, a make-your-own wind chime, another coloring book, jewelry kits, a paint-your-own piggy bank, on and on. They were dollar-store finds, cheap as could be, but every time Newt opened them he got that look like he was discovering the secrets of the universe. And every time, Minho could hear the sincerity in his voice when he thanked him.

Minho couldn't believe how well this was going. As they entered the week of Christmas, Newt seemed the happiest he'd been in months. He was relaxed, cheerful, eating without being told, wearing the Santa hat everywhere. Minho kept up the gifts, kept making sure he gave him one every day. It was working so well he'd already decided he was going to do this every year.

Then came Christmas.

Minho always spoiled his boyfriend on Christmas. Newt was a December birthday, so Minho made sure to give him as much as he could possibly stand to make up for only getting parents once a year. This year was no different.

Newt looked like a kid in a candy store as he unwrapped present after present, surrounding himself with a sea of wrapping paper and trinkets. Half the things he put on immediately. Bunny slippers. A watch. An aromatherapy necklace. And last but definitely not least, the biggest, ugliest Christmas sweater Minho had been able to find, an XXL red and green sweater with HO HO HO written on it in white.

“Thank you,” Newt said, pulling the sweater on. He leaned over and kissed Minho sweetly. “Thank you so much. For everything.” He got to his feet. “Now wait here.”

Minho sat back on his hands, waiting patiently while Newt ran to their room. A minute later the blond emerged, carrying the biggest gift bag Minho had ever seen. He handed it over, biting his lip. “Merry Christmas, Min.”

“Thank you,” Minho said, smiling and taking the bag from him.

The gifts inside were wrapped in thin newspaper-colored paper with carefully colored drawings on them, drawings Minho recognized. “Jeez,” he whispered. The wrapping paper was made of the pages of the coloring books he'd gotten Newt, colored in with all Newt's skill.

Minho had a reputation for tearing wrapping paper into pieces, but not this time. This time he peeled the tape away carefully and set each picture aside reverently, making a neat stack. What he found inside was even more incredible.

A wind chime, painted carefully. A watch with a forest scene on the band. A piggy bank painted to look like a wild pig. On and on. Every craft he'd gotten Newt, everything turned into works of art.

Minho stared at Newt, past words. Something clicked for him. Usually, Newt hoarded the money from his sales in the latter half of the year, bought Minho the biggest gift he could. But this year he hadn't made any sales.

“Newt,” he whispered. “You didn't--these were for you.”

Newt shrugged, biting his lip. “I wanted to make them for you.”

Words. He was supposed to say them, and they were more than true. “I love them,” he said. “Thank you. Come let me kiss you?”

Newt obliged.


	2. Two turtle doves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I was out of the house all yesterday and didn't get to upload this. So here's chapter two, taking place on December 26. Chapter three will post when I get home from work.
> 
> There's some kink-shamey stuff in here, because Minho is easily squicked. You've been warned.

“I didn't know you had a kid.”

Minho looked up from the computer, frowning at the speaker. Teresa had perched on the edge of his desk and was looking down at him. “What?” he asked. 

Teresa pointed to his arm. “Didn't your daughter make that?”

Minho looked down. Teresa was pointing to the cuff on his wrist, which Newt had made from a kit using safety pins and beads. 

“No,” he said, a little defensively. “My boyfriend made it.”

Teresa's eyes went wide. “Oh, sorry. Was it--I mean, is he your little?”

Minho stared at her. “What the hell is a little?”

Teresa blinked, stammering. “You--I mean, I thought you were--never mind. Dumb question.” She hopped down from the desk. 

“Hey, hold on,” he said. “What's a little?”

Teresa shrugged. “Like--age play, and stuff. I thought since your boyfriend did that…”

Minho blinked. “Okay. Again. What's age play?”

Teresa waved her hands. “Never mind. Stupid question.”

“Seriously--” Minho began, but Teresa was already gone. He sighed, staring at his computer. Then without a word he typed “age play” into Google.

Thirty minutes later, he typed a quick email to Teresa.

_ The hell kind of sick shit are you into? _

Teresa’s reply was automatic.

_ What are you talking about? _

He sent her the link he’d found, a page that had made his stomach churn with in-depth details of some of the creepiest kinks he’d ever seen.

_ Oh, for the love of God, _ Teresa wrote back.  _ Here. _

She sent him another link, one he clicked on with not a little wariness. He read through it.

Then he read it again.

Huh.


	3. Three French hens

Newt had once told Minho he used to trade clothes with his sister Sonya, despite her being a year younger. It had been a joke back then, a game to the two of them. Not that Newt wanted to remember it anymore. Now, he only wanted to be left alone.

Still.

It meant he could wear the pajamas that had caught Minho’s eye.

It was something of a joke among their friends, actually, that Newt could shop in the boys’ department, the men’s department, or the juniors’ department. The pajamas were the latter. Juniors’ large, just long enough to fit Newt’s long legs, just narrow enough that he wouldn’t be swimming in them.

Minho checked the tag idly. The pajamas had just gone clearance.

Stupid. He was being stupid. Newt hadn’t expressed any interest in this kind of thing. It wasn’t him who’d brought up the idea of littles and Caregivers, it was Teresa. And Minho hadn’t asked.

Still… Newt had liked getting the crafts, had turned them into something beautiful. And he was always cold, especially in winter. And Minho was already seeing the signs of his post-Christmas crash. And the pajamas were on clearance.

~

Newt was lying on the floor by the TV, coloring in one of the pages that hadn’t gotten used for wrapping paper. He was still wearing his Santa hat.

“Hey,” Minho said, setting the grocery bags down. “Got you something.”

“It’s not Christmas,” Newt mumbled without looking up.

“The hell it’s not,” Minho retorted. “There are twelve days of Christmas, remember? We’re only on day three. And I got you something, and you can have it if you get up and come give me a kiss.”

A small smile twitched around the corners of Newt’s lips, and he got to his feet and crossed the apartment to kiss Minho. “Missed you,” he mumbled. “Need help with the groceries?”

“In a minute,” Minho said. “First, I need you to close your eyes and hold out your hands.”

Newt rolled his eyes dramatically but obeyed.

Minho pulled the pajamas out of the bag, bundled up tightly, and set them gently in Newt’s hands. “Open.”

Newt opened his hands and looked down, frowning in confusion. He fumbled with the bundle of fleece until it unwound to show its shape: a green-trimmed red footed onesie patterned with Santa and snowmen and penguins. His eyes went wide and something shifted in his expression, something Minho had seen when he opened the coloring book and the piggy bank. “I…” he began, and trailed off.

Minho shifted uncomfortably. “I mean, you don’t have to wear them. I just thought--they’d keep your feet warm.”

Newt looked up at him, and suddenly his expression changed, breaking into a smile. “I love them,” he said. “Thank you.”


	4. Four calling birds

Minho knew as soon as he walked into the apartment that something was wrong. Newt wasn’t in the spot he’d been in the past two days, curled up in front of the TV coloring or drawing or writing. He wasn’t in the kitchen or the dining room either, which meant…

“Newt,” Minho sighed when he found his boyfriend in the bedroom. “What’s going on?”

Newt mumbled something, but with the covers up over his head Minho couldn’t hear him.

Minho sat beside him, tugging the covers down. Newt was wearing his Santa hat and footie pajamas and would have looked cozy if his eyes weren’t red-rimmed from crying.

“Newt,” Minho whispered, brushing his hair back from his face. “Why didn’t you call me?”

Newt sniffed, wiping his eyes. “Stupid,” he mumbled. “Being a baby.”

Part of Minho wanted to tell him he was allowed to be a baby, that Minho would take care of him. But that was a conversation for another time, when Newt was more himself and more able to consider what Minho was offering him.

“Come here,” he said instead. “Put your head in my lap.”

Newt shifted, resting his head in Minho’s lap and curling his knees up tight to his chest.

Minho started petting him, gently, smoothing away the strands of hair that had escaped the Santa hat. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

Newt whined. “Got another letter,” he mumbled.

Letter. There was only one kind of letter that would hurt Newt like this. Another rejection letter, on one of his written pieces or a piece of art he’d submitted somewhere.

“I’m sorry,” Minho whispered, kissing his head gently. “You want dinner, or do you want to sleep?”

Newt shook his head. “I’ll eat,” he mumbled.

“You want a nap until then?”

Newt bit his lip, then nodded.

“Okay,” Minho whispered. “I’ll stay here until you fall asleep.”

Newt closed his eyes, but after several more minutes of petting he was still restless, whining and pouting at the futility of trying to sleep.

Minho waited a minute longer, but he knew this wouldn’t work. Newt had a hard time falling asleep at the best of times, and what was worse, it distressed him when he couldn’t sleep. So after a second’s hesitation, Minho licked his lips and started to sing. It was an old Korean lullaby his mom used to sing to him. He knew the sounds and knew the translation, but he didn’t really understand the words. It had always disappointed his mom that he didn’t learn Korean like she had, and when he’d tried to take it up as an adult it never seemed to take.

Thankfully, it did the job here. Newt stopped whimpering and moaning after a few more minutes, and after ten or so he drifted off.

Minho kissed the top of his head, gently settling his boyfriend’s head back on the pillow. “God, I hope you let me keep doing this when I explain,” he whispered, and went to make dinner.


	5. Five golden rings

“Minho?”

Minho looked up from the paperwork he was trying to get done for his benefits at work and found Newt standing at the corner of the hallway, wearing his Santa hat and footie pajamas and with his coloring book tucked under his arm. He was staring at Minho, curiosity and wariness warring on his face.

“Yeah?” he asked.

Newt approached him, setting the coloring book down and sitting across from him at the table. He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it again.

“What is it?” Minho asked. His throat seemed to be constricting. He had a horrible feeling he knew what this was, and he wasn’t nearly ready for it.

Newt shoved the coloring book at him. “Why’d you get me this?” he asked. “And the pajamas? And the--the kiddie crafts, and everything.”

Minho hesitated. “I wanted to bring back your family’s tradition,” he said. “Where your mom got you presents every day of December. And--I couldn’t do all that and spoil you on Christmas, so I got little things, and… well, it was mostly the crafts.”

Newt frowned at the coloring book. Minho pushed on. “I was going to find something else to give you, but… when I gave you that coloring book you looked--happy. So I decided I wanted to give you more of them.”

“And the pajamas?” Newt asked quietly.

“You get cold,” Minho said.

He was doing this wrong. He knew what Newt was asking, and he knew he was supposed to answer, but all that would come out of his mouth was dodges.

“So…” Newt trailed off. “You--you got me things that are for kids,” he mumbled, looking down. “And you kept getting me them, even after Christmas was over. And you sang to me…”

Minho took a deep breath. Nothing for it. He had to answer.

“I wanted to make you happy,” he said. “You seemed happy when I got you those things. And…” He took a deep breath and reached for his folder, taking out the printout he’d made of Teresa’s link.

“Teresa gave me this,” he said, passing it to Newt. “Well, she gave me the link. I printed it out for when--when you asked me that.”

Newt looked at it. He started reading. The more he read, the tighter his shoulders wound.

“I’m not a kid,” he said. “I’m not and--and you can’t treat me like one.”

Minho rocked back like he’d been slapped. “That’s not what I’m doing,” he said. “I--Newt, I wanted to help--”

“By treating me like a child?”

“No!” Minho blurted out. “By taking care of you. You  _ liked _ it. You’re wearing the pajamas, you’ve been coloring--”

“I’m not a child!”

Newt was on his feet and yelling now, and it hurt Minho to realize how badly he’d fucked up. “You were happy,” he said. “I wanted to make you happy. I wanted you to forget about the rejection letters, and your family, and how you can’t eat a full meal, and--” He trailed off, slumping back in his seat, rubbing his temples. “Never mind,” he muttered. “You can keep everything--not like I can take it back anyway. I won’t get any more of it for you. We’ll pretend it never happened.”

Newt opened his mouth like he was going to say something, then stood up, picking up the coloring book and holding it protectively to his chest. “I love you,” he said, and fled.


	6. Six geese a-laying

Newt had ditched the Santa hat and pajamas. When Minho got home he found him wearing faded jeans and a T-shirt that hung so loose on him it had obviously come from Minho’s side of the dresser, hair damp from a shower and smelling clean.

“Dinner’s cooking,” he told Minho. “What do you want to drink?”

Minho stepped out of his shoes and shrugged off his coat, trying to absorb the sudden change. Newt’s eyes were red again, but that could have been from the steam from the shower. It didn’t mean anything. Certainly not that Newt had decided to prove his adulthood by taking on the job of making a dinner he wouldn’t eat more than a few bites of.

“Water,” he said after a minute. “Just water.”

Newt nodded, ducking back into the kitchen and fishing through the cupboards for something. Minho watched him while he stripped off gloves and earmuffs and tucked them into the pockets of his coat before hanging that up on a hook by the wall. Newt’s Santa hat was hung right beside it. It hurt him to look at it, a visible reminder that Newt had rejected the idea of Minho taking care of him.

He sat on the couch and channel-surfed until dinner. Newt emerged halfway through an episode of  _ How I Met Your Mother _ , wiping his hands on a kitchen towel.

“Dinner,” he said softly, and returned to the kitchen to plate everything.

Minho sat at the table, and Newt brought out a glass of water for him, milk for himself, and two plates with pork chops, Brussels sprouts, and linguine dressed with what smelled like olive oil and herbs. He set one plate in front of Minho, took his seat, and started eating. Minho studied him for a minute, making sure he was all right, then started eating. He cut a bite of pork, swirled up some linguine, and popped the whole mess into his mouth.

“Good?” Newt asked.

Minho nodded, making a pleased noise.

“Good.”

Minho ate half his plate before he realized that Newt had stopped eating after just one more bite. “You okay?” he asked.

Newt stared at his plate, blinking hard. Then, without warning, he started to cry.

Minho dropped his fork, food forgotten. “Newt,” he whispered, starting to get up. “Come here. Sit with me.”

He expected to be yelled at again about how Newt wasn’t a child, but instead the blond got up and stumbled around the counter to fall into Minho’s lap, sobbing into his shirt.

“It’s okay,” Minho whispered, petting him. “It’s okay, just tell me what’s wrong and we’ll fix it.”

“I c-c-can’t,” Newt sobbed. “I can’t, I c-can’t.”

“Yes, you can,” Minho crooned, kissing the top of his head. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“I--I--” Newt hiccuped. “I need--I n-need to be small.”

Minho’s heart pretty much broke at that. “You can be,” he whispered. “You can be small, you can be as small as you need to, and I’ll be the big one. Okay?”

Newt shook his head, wiping at his eyes. “I’m an  _ adult, _ ” he said, voice cracking. “I have to…”

“No, you don’t,” Minho said firmly, wiping Newt’s tears away with his thumb. “You don’t have to be. You don’t have to be any bigger than you want to be. I promise.”

Newt whimpered.

“I promise,” Minho whispered again. “You want to be little? You want me to feed you?”

Newt sobbed again but nodded.

“Okay,” Minho said, kissing his head. “We can do that. Come on, face front and I’ll feed you.”

It took a little more coaxing, but Newt turned to face the table, secure in Minho’s lap with one arm around him. He folded his hands over Minho’s arm while Minho speared a sprout and held it up to his lips. Bit by bit he fed him, kissing and whispering to him the whole time.

“We don’t have to figure it out today,” he promised when the plate was mostly clear. “We’ll talk tomorrow, after you’ve slept. Do you want your pajamas?”

Newt nodded.

“Okay,” Minho said. “Come on, let’s get you to bed.”

This time, Newt didn’t object.


	7. Seven swans a-swimming

Minho could barely sit still the whole next day, and when he got home he realized quickly he wasn't the only one. 

Newt was perched on the edge of the table, wearing the oversized Christmas sweater Minho had gotten him and skinny jeans that looked like tights under the long train of the sweater. He had his Santa hat on again, and as soon as Minho closed the door behind him he jumped down from the table and ran up to him. 

“We're going to talk now, right?” he asked. 

Minho snorted. “Lemme get my coat off,” he said. “And then, yes, we'll talk. You want something to drink? Cocoa or anything?”

Newt nodded. “Cocoa,” he said. 

“Okay,” Minho said. He took off his coat, tucked the gloves and earmuffs into the pocket, and hung it up. “Go wait at the table,” he ordered, heading into the kitchen to make Newt his cocoa. 

Newt perched on the table again, swinging his legs back and forth, watching Minho intently. Minho heated the water in the microwave to speed it up, dumped the cocoa powder in carefully, and stirred in marshmallows. “Come on,” he said when he was ready. “We'll sit on the couch and talk.”

Newt followed him, but when Minho sat down, he didn't settle down beside him. Instead he climbed into Minho's lap, straddling him carefully before picking up his cocoa and blowing on it. 

“Don't spill it on me,” Minho told him with a smile. “You're right over some important parts there.”

Newt laughed. 

“Okay,” he said. “So. This is the part where we figure out what we want, right?”

“Right,” Minho agreed. “So first things first. The whole little/Caregiver thing--do you want that?”

Near nodded. “Do you?”

“Yeah,” Minho said. “I do. I want to be the one to take care of you.”

Newt blushed, setting his cocoa aside and draping his arms around Minho's neck. “Ground rules,” he said. “I'm not interested in spanking.”

“Good,” Minho said. “Because I wasn't going to give you any.”

“And I'm not calling you Daddy,” Newt added, sounding suddenly suspicious. 

“Good,” Minho said. “You'll call me Minho, and I'll call you Newt.”

“And no diapers or anything like that,” Newt said, shuddering. “Just because I'm a little doesn't mean I'm _ that _ little.”

“Thank God,” Minho told him, seriously but with a grin on his face. “Anything else?”

Newt considered. “Not that I can think of.”

“Okay then. Here's my no list. It's pretty short.” His hands tightened on Newt's waist. “I'll hold you and kiss you, but I won't fuck you or blow you or even make out with you when you're little. Kids, even grownup ones, don't turn me on.”

Newt nodded. “And being a kid doesn't turn me on.”

“Good,” Minho said. “That's settled.”

Newt relaxed. “So what else do we need to know?”

“Well, we know what we don't want,” Minho said. “Now we decide what we do. Obviously you want to be little, but that's not always going to mean me buying you presents. Much as I'd love to, I'm not made of money.”

“So what else?” Newt asked. 

“First off, it means you don't have to be embarrassed about wanting to be little,” Minho said seriously. “You don't get embarrassed about wearing footie pajamas or coloring in coloring books. It _ can _ mean I make your lunch before I leave for work in the morning, things you'd eat as a kid. PB &J sandwiches and chips and an apple. It _ can _ mean I put you in timeout if you don't behave. What it _ does _ mean depends on you and what you want.”

Newt licked his lips. “I want that,” he said. “What you said, I want that.”

“Even timeout?” Minho asked. 

“Well, no,” Newt admitted. “But I want you to take care of me like I'm still a kid and that means discipline.”

“Wise beyond your years,” Minho teased, and kissed him lightly. “Okay. So here’s what I want. I want to hold you in my lap and watch dumb kids’ shows with you. I want to run baths for you and wash your hair for you and put you to bed and sing you to sleep. I want you to wear those footie pajamas and that Santa hat until it’s too damn hot for them.” He kissed Newt again, right above his eye. “I want you to be  _ happy _ , and I haven’t seen you as happy as an adult as you were when you were coloring. I want to make you that happy again.”

Newt smiled shyly. “I want that,” he said. “All of it. Everything you said, I want.”

“That’s settled then,” Minho said, and kissed him again.


	8. Eight maids a-milking

It had been the first year they didn’t spend all New Year’s Night fucking. To his surprise, Minho found that he liked this just as much, just kissing Newt at midnight and putting him to bed, curling up with him and falling asleep with Newt’s footie pajamas pressed against him like his cold feet normally would be.

“Min, Min!”

Minho cracked an eye open. There was a red-topped blond head staring down at him and grinning.

He groaned. “Since when are you a morning person?” he demanded.

“Since right now,” Newt announced. “I want pancakes. Do you want to make pancakes?”

Minho dragged Newt’s pillow over his own face. “I want  _ sleep, _ ” he said. “I’m pretty sure as the adult here I get to tell you not to bother me until ten.”

“Can I watch TV?”

He couldn’t help smiling at that. Newt was taking the whole little thing seriously. “No,” he said. “Read a book or color or something. I’ll make you pancakes when I get up.”

“You promise?”

If Newt had been an adult just then, Minho would have flipped him off. Instead he waved at him to go away. “Yes, I promise, now  _ shoo. _ ”

Newt hopped off the bed and scampered.

Two hours later, Minho dragged himself out of bed, stumbled into a hot shower, and dragged himself out again and into the kitchen. Newt had been lying in front of the TV coloring again, but ran into the kitchen and hopped onto the kitchen counter.

“If I’m little, can I still have coffee?” he asked.

Minho squinted at him, more from exhaustion than irritation. “You want coffee? Seriously? You’re bouncing off the walls already.”

Newt didn’t even blink. “Then can I have cocoa?”

“I liked you better when you weren’t a morning person,” Minho informed him.

Newt stuck out his tongue.

Minho couldn’t even pretend to be surprised.


	9. Nine ladies dancing

Certain things, Minho had decided, were best kept far away from little Newt.

Coffee, for a start. And alcohol--Minho had told him firmly he wasn’t allowed to mix his little headspace with alcohol. Newt as a little was a quantifiably different person than Newt as an adult.

They’d agreed on a few more things that had come up yesterday. Newt would be the one to decide whether he was to be treated as a child or an adult. They’d decided on signals for it, the most obvious being whether he said Minho or Min. As a little, he would always say Min.

Abruptly Minho realized he’d been staring at the twelve-packs of soda for a good two or three minutes.

Soda was a terrible idea, he thought. With how  _ bouncy _ Newt was as a little…

Maybe caffeine-free soda. For special occasions.

Making lunches for a little would involve different things than he normally made for Newt. Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, mostly, with yogurt and apples or oranges on the side. It’d be fine. Newt would love it. He still loved peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, but he rarely ate a whole one. Thankfully, being a little seemed to have relaxed him enough to make the block in his throat shrink a little. He’d eaten a whole two pancakes for breakfast yesterday, and cleaned his plate at dinner.

If it took ageplay to make Newt relax enough to eat, Minho would do it happily.

On to clothes. Newt could shop in the boys’ department. It was time he had clothes that looked as young as he felt.


	10. Ten lords a-leaping

“Minho,” Teresa called, poking her head in from her office, “line one is for you.”

Minho frowned as he picked up. No one called him at work, not since his dad died and his mom moved back to Korea. Hesitantly, he picked up the phone. “Hello?”

“Min?”

Instantly the world crashed down around him. He leaned over his desk, trying to hide the phone from anyone who might see it. “Newt, you’re not supposed to call me at work.” Definitely not when he was in his little headspace. But that wasn’t the most worrying part. The most worrying part was the hitch in Newt’s voice.

“Min,” Newt said, voice quavering, “I got another letter.”

Another letter.  _ Fuck. _

“Newt, why would you open it without me there?” he asked.

Nothing for it. He got to his feet and retreated from the office area, down the hall to the break room. No one was there right now, thankfully.

“I thought it might be good news.” Another hitch in his breath. God, Newt was going to cry and there was  _ nothing Minho could do about it. _

“Newt, deep breaths, okay?” he urged. “Come on, deep breaths. You can do this.”

He listened to Newt struggling to obey, listened to the ragged edge on those breaths. He cast about for something to say.

“Look, I’ll be home in a few hours…”

“I need you to come home  _ now, _ ” Newt sobbed.

Fuck. His little was crying and he was trapped at work, unable to do anything about it. He had a conference call in thirty minutes; he couldn’t go home to do it, not with Newt so small.

“I can’t, Newt,” he whispered. “Come on, breathe for me.”

Something. He needed something. Something that would make a little Newt stop crying.

“Do you want cookies?” he blurted out.

The crying paused. “Cookies?” Newt asked, and hiccupped.

Hiccupping was good. That meant Newt wasn’t crying so hard. “Yeah,” Minho said, pressing his advantage. “Cookies. Oreos.”

“Will you bring me some?”

“I bought you some,” Minho said. “I put them over the stove. You know where the stepstool is, right? In the bathroom cupboard?”

“Yeah.”

“If you stop crying and wait for me to get home, you can have three cookies with your lunch.”

A pause. Minho imagined Newt chewing his lip.

“Can I have five?”

_ Five. _ Minho huffed a laugh.

“If you have an apple too, you can have five.”

Newt whined. “That’s a lot!”

“Half an apple. You can cut it up and put peanut butter on it.”

Teresa came in at that moment, and Minho turned his back on her, hoping she wouldn’t comment. “Can you do that?”

He could practically hear Newt chewing the end of his Santa hat like he’d taken to doing recently. “Okay,” he said at last. “When will you be home?”

“Four o’clock,” Minho said. “You’ll be okay until then, right?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Okay. I’ll see you then.” He paused, then added, “I love you.”

“Love you too, Min.”


	11. Eleven pipers piping

Once upon a time, Newt and Minho had given Thomas and Teresa permission to drop in on them anytime.

They hadn’t expected it to be when Newt was little.

“Happy New Year three days late!” Teresa announced, pushing the door open and sweeping in, her twin lagging behind her. Her eyes were bluer than normal from the cold outside, and in her hands was a covered cupcake tray. She shoved it toward Newt, who was sitting on the couch with his arms folded. “We brought treats!”

Newt brightened. “Cupcakes!” he yelled.

Minho had been listening, and now he stepped in. “He’s in timeout,” he told Teresa. “Don’t talk to him.”

He hadn’t realized Thomas was behind her until Thomas spoke up and asked, “Timeout?”

Teresa, on the other hand, looked delighted. “You liked the link?” she asked Minho. Then to Newt she said, “Were you a naughty little boy?”

Newt whined. “It was only a sip!”

“I told you  _ no _ alcohol when you’re little,” Minho said. “Especially not  _ my _ alcohol. Now be quiet, you still have five minutes left.”

He was determined not to let Thomas get a word in edgewise, but the plan failed when Thomas spoke over his sister. “Why the hell is he in timeout? How the hell does an adult get put in timeout?”

Minho glanced at Newt and froze. The blond’s eyes were wide and his lip was quivering. He couldn’t just turn off his little headspace and his little sensitivity just because Thomas was being an ass about it.

Fortunately, Teresa understood already. “Thomas,” she snapped. “Hallway, now.” She plopped the cupcakes on the dining table and grabbed her brother’s wrist. “Take care of your little,” she told Minho, and dragged Thomas out of the apartment.

Minho didn’t need to be told twice. He crossed the apartment and sat beside Newt, tugging his little into his lap. Newt went willingly, hiccupping as tears threatened.

“It’s okay,” Minho whispered, petting his hair and kissing the top of his head. “It’s okay. He didn’t meant that. He’s surprised, that’s all. We didn’t tell him.”

“H-he thinks I’m a fr-freak,” Newt stammered, and that was it, he was crying.

Minho’s heart was breaking. “He doesn’t, Newt,” he whispered. “He doesn’t understand. Teresa will explain and he’ll be fine with it, you’ll see.”

Newt was still crying, but he seemed to believe it.

Minho kept whispering to him, kept petting him, until the door creaked open and Teresa poked her head in.

“Thomas wants to say something,” she said. “Should we wait?”

“What do you think?” Minho asked Newt.

Newt nodded, hiccupping and scrubbing at his eyes with his sleeve.

Teresa pushed the door open wide and Thomas came in. He glanced away when he saw Newt in Minho’s lap, but at least he didn’t say anything. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Minho looked at Newt. He was the one hurt, it was his call what to say.

“‘S okay,” Newt mumbled, wiping away the last of the tears. Then he brightened. “Do you wanna see my pictures?”

Thomas glanced at Teresa, then Minho, then nodded.


	12. Twelve drummers drumming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, this is the end, almost. One more chapter for tomorrow, and tomorrow is Epiphany and the official end of the Christmas season.

“I have an idea.”

Newt looked up from his coloring book at the words, curious. Minho smiled down at him as he perched on the sofa, muting Spongebob.

“Let’s go out,” he said. “Somewhere with a kids’ menu. You can order off it, get a chocolate milk in a cup with a lid and a straw. I’ll get a steak and you can get mac and cheese or something.”

Newt frowned, looking back at his coloring. “I’unno,” he mumbled.

Thomas had poisoned his little. If he hadn’t apologized, Minho would strangle him. He was still tempted to strangle him. Newt hadn’t smiled once since Thomas freaked out, even when Thomas was being suitably impressed by his drawings.

“Come on,” Minho said, holding out his arms. “Come sit in my lap.”

Newt got to his feet and crossed the living room to crawl into Minho’s lap.

Minho held him close. “Tell me what’s bothering you about this,” he said. “Do you not want to be a little anymore?”

“No!” Newt yelped. “I want to be little. I need to be little.”

“Okay,” Minho said, brushing his hair back from his face. “Then what’s the problem?”

Newt shifted. “Grown-ups can’t order off the kids’ menu,” he said.

“Sure they can,” Minho said. Ignoring the lump in his throat, he said, “My mom always used to order off the kids’ menu. She couldn’t eat spicy food at all, so if we went out for Chinese or Mexican or anything she’d always order a hamburger or mac and cheese.”

“They’ll look at me funny,” Newt muttered.

“No, they won’t,” Minho said. “I won’t let them. I’ll even order for you, and you can order for me. They’ll think I’m the one with the sippy cup.”

“They’ll still look funny,” Newt mumbled.

“Then skip the sippy cup,” Minho said. “Come on,” he added, nuzzling Newt’s temple. “I want to take you out, get you talking to people. You’ve been cooped up in here since Christmas.”

Newt bit his lip. “You promise they won’t look at me funny?”

“I’ll cuss them out if they do,” Minho promised.

Newt hesitated, then nodded. “Okay.”


	13. The end

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I completely forgot to post this yesterday, sorry. Here it is now!

Minho was startled out of his paperwork-induced stupor by the sound of crying. Loud, little-kid, the-world-is-coming-to-an-end crying.

“Newt?” he yelled, getting up from the table and going around to the bedroom. “What’s wrong?”

Newt had changed into his footie pajamas for bed, and put his Santa hat back on for the last day of Christmas, and he was wailing at the top of his lungs. Much though he hated thinking of their relationship as anything strange, Minho couldn’t help thinking about how the neighbors would think a real child was crying in here.

“Newt,” he said, sitting down and tugging Newt into his arms, “talk to me, what’s wrong?”

Newt’s lip quivered as he grabbed his right leg and turned it up so Minho could see--

“Oh, my God,” he muttered, head falling forward to rest against his little’s. “You  _ scared _ me, Newt.”

“It’s  _ ripped, _ ” Newt wailed. “I st-stepped on something and it  _ ripped. _ ”

Minho sighed, tweaking the hole in the foot of the pajamas with his thumb. “It’s not the end of the world,” he said. “Take them off and I’ll sew them back up.”

Newt sniffled. “You--you can do that?”

Minho laughed and kissed the tip of his nose. “I learned to sew all the way back in middle school,” he said. “I ripped my clothes so often Mom refused to fix them anymore, made me do it.”

“Oh.” Newt considered that, then stretched out his leg. “They’ll be okay?”

“Good as new,” Minho promised. “Or almost. Now, show me what you stepped on.”

Newt felt around the floor where he’d been walking, then pointed. Minho looked close--a splinter of wood had peeled off one of the floorboards.

“Well, shit,” he muttered. “I’ll fix that too. Come on, stand up. I’ll run you a bath and fix this up while you’re in it, okay?”

Newt nodded, getting to his feet and wiping the tears away from his face.

Minho ran him a bath, pouring a liberal amount of shower gel in to make it foam. When Newt was in it and Minho had pried his Santa hat off his head, Minho took the pajamas into the living room and dug his sewing kit out of the hall closet. As Newt splashed happily in the tub, he sewed up the edges of the rip so it wouldn’t fray, then sewed it back together again.

Newt was starting to yelp about the water getting cold when Minho set the pajamas aside and got out the gardening tools he used to maintain the plants they grew on their deck. He took a pair of clippers and carefully cut off the splinter, then tugged the rug a few inches to the side so it covered what was left.

“I’m coming!” he yelled when Newt whined. He stashed the clippers, got the pajamas again, and brought them back to the bathroom. “Okay,” he said, picking up a towel. “Come on, you’re a big boy, you can dry yourself off.”

Newt climbed out, using Minho for balance and getting his shirt wet in the process. Minho didn’t complain, just handed him the towel and reached down to unplug the drain.

“Come on,” he said when Newt was dressed once again in footie pajamas and now-damp Santa hat. “Bedtime.”

He tucked Newt in, fetched him a glass of water, and perched on the bed beside him. “Do you want a story?” he asked.

Newt nodded, covering a yawn with his hand.

“Okay.” Minho smiled. He’d seen both their emails today; Newt hadn’t been checking his reliably since they’d started their new dynamic. He had a surprise for Newt. “Let me grab one.”

He’d picked up a few picture books when he’d shopped to make the apartment kid-friendly, and now he grabbed one and quickly hid the pages of the real story inside it. Then he sat down beside Newt and opened the book.

“Swirls of ink pattern the naked back of the girl lying on the street. The man standing there stares for a long time, frozen by the beauty of the sight before him. Then he stoops down and picks up the girl, covering her with his coat. He can’t just leave her there, after all.”

He glanced at Newt curiously. Newt’s eyes were wide open and his jaw had dropped.

“Where did you find that?” he asked, scrambling to his hands and knees. “I burned all my copies. I deleted it.”

“It came back,” Minho said. “In your email. Along with this.”

He pulled a piece of paper out of the packet and handed it to Newt. Newt took it and read it. His eyes got wider and wider, lips moving silently with the words; then he looked up at Minho. “For real?”

Minho smiled and nodded, brushing Newt’s hair back from his face. “For real.”

Newt looked back down at it, disbelieving.

“Newt,” Minho said. “I wouldn’t make this up. There’s a check in the mail right now paying you for this story.”

Newt looked up at him again, lip quivering. “But I deleted it.”

“Not the copies you emailed out,” Minho said. “I salvaged it from this one. You see? You’re not broken.” He leaned in and kissed Newt’s forehead. “You’re never going to be broken to me,” he promised. “I’m never giving up on you. And I’m here for whoever and whatever you want to be. Little, grown-up, writer, artist, stay-at-home kid. I don’t care. I love you. I’m here with you, no matter what.”

Newt didn’t say anything, just flung himself into Minho’s arms. “Keep reading?”

Minho obliged.

**Author's Note:**

> If you like my work, find me on Tumblr at [crankifiedartist](http://crankifiedartist.tumblr.com/), where I have a [giveaway](http://crankifiedartist.tumblr.com/post/135814460650/crankifies-ive-been-on-this-blog-almost-a-year) going through the end of the month. If you REALLY like my work, check me out on [Redbubble](http://www.redbubble.com/people/sardonisms).


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